


Return

by venhediss



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venhediss/pseuds/venhediss
Summary: On a quiet evening in the new Sahrian Union, Volfred and Oralech relax and reflect on how they got here.





	Return

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rose and Kamila for making me just finish this and post it already. :')

Oralech groaned from across the study, rolling his shoulders back and setting his chair creaking beneath him. Volfred felt a twinge of sympathy - filling out forms was far from the sort of work that had been expected of physicians in the Commonwealth. On top of that, Oralech had always had a habit of holding tension in his neck, a problem only made worse by the weighty stumps of bone that still sprouted from the sides of his head.

Although Volfred was more accustomed to the physical burdens of bureaucracy, even his eyes were beginning to tire and his fingers were growing stiff. His pipe beckoned from where it sat nearby. "I'd say that perhaps a break is in order."

"I would agree," Oralech answered, a hand clutching at one shoulder.

Volfred's roots loosened their subconscious grip on the legs of his chair and splayed themselves out across the tiled floor as he stood, setting quill and parchment aside for now. Holding his writing hand, he gently bent one finger back, and then another, feeling the tissue stretch just under the less-flexible bark. The exercise was a bit painful, but ultimately necessary after such a long period of writing. Glancing over his shoulder, he was met with a look of warm approval.

"It is good to see you taking care of yourself," Oralech said lightly, a bit of his physician's pride seeping through.

"I can't claim to have always been so diligent, but such things become more important once one reaches one's second century."  _ Not to mention...  _ Volfred's grip on his fingers and wrists had a phantom warmth to it, the tactile echo of a now decade-old memory still connected to the exercises.

"If our prime minister did not know how to keep his own wrists from giving out, I would consider myself a failure as chief physician." Oralech didn't rise from his chair, although he did cast a glance at his cane, considering, as he rubbed small circles into the top of his shoulder. A whiff of fragrant smoke drifted thinly through the rays of late afternoon sun that stretched across his desk, and he let out an unimpressed  _ hmph _ .

From behind him came a rumbling chuckle. "Allow me this vice, at least."

"It is up to you to say what is allowed; I simply advise," Oralech said, with all-too-sincere formality.

The wink and nudge of the by now long-running joke wasn't lost on Volfred, but the sigh he gave in response was almost a plea. "My heart, you know as well as I that I hear more than enough of that in council meetings."

"The stars shall fade from their eyes in time," Oralech said, waving the issue neatly aside with his free hand. "Until then, you may rest assured that I shall take my responsibility of keeping you humble quite seriously."

"I appreciate it, truly."

Silence fell. Gradually, Volfred finished off his pipe, the smoke thinning out to nothing; Oralech attempted to roll the tension out of his shoulders and stretched his bandaged legs out beneath his work desk. The pools of light coming through the windows shifted and turned a rich gold as the sun continued steadily along its celestial path.

There was a gentle metallic tapping, and a hiss of bark against tile that stopped just behind Oralech. Volfred said nothing for a moment, taking in the view from the tall window in front of the desk; then, "Sometimes I can understand how they failed to see what was right before them." From this high up, the city's ramparts seemed to stretch into the distance. Just below, the nearest (and finest) houses and streets stood out in clear detail, while those farther away melted into a dizzying patchwork of roofs and chimneys, featureless, anonymous, and voiceless.

Oralech glanced back to find that Volfred's gaze had turned to him.

"How are your shoulders? Still aching?"

"A bit," he admitted. "I fear only a long bath and another set of hands will truly help."

"If you were to ask, I'm sure you'd find plenty of willing volunteers."

Oralech knew that tone of voice, and a long, searching look at Volfred's face more than confirmed his suspicions. "Well, if you insist... Show me, then, what you remember."

There was a moment of indecision on Volfred's part. "You know me too well." The admission was almost sheepish, but any hesitation disappeared in a flash as his palms settled on Oralech's shoulders. "Where does it hurt most?"

With a bit of guidance, his fingertips pressed against the fabric of Oralech's tunic, pushing into rigid and knotted muscle. For his part, Oralech did his best to consciously release whatever remaining tension he had been holding onto, with mixed results. "More to the right," he murmured. Volfred's questioning hum as he moved his hand was cut off by a short, pained hiss. "Yes...there."

There, indeed. To his inexperienced (and long out of practice) touch, the coils of muscle at the juncture between Oralech's neck and right shoulder felt almost as hard as bone. He pressed a bit harder with his thumb, and only then did the stiffness begin to yield a bit. Oralech let out a long, slow breath, but didn't protest, simply letting his head fall a little closer to his chest.

As one of Volfred's hands began to rub small, firm circles into the affected shoulder, the other wandered along the back of Oralech's neck, tracing out joints and muscle groups. They would never cease to be fascinating; their names came to Volfred's mind only sluggishly, after many years of neglect. "Trapezien?"

"Mm."

"Deltus."

"Mmm."

"And here..." He lingered over the small hillock of bone that curved up, winglike, into Oralech's left shoulder. "...I do remember the common name, but..."

"Serculem. And next to it, acromien." Oralech's eyes were closed, though they twitched beneath his lids, as if he were examining a diagram, or perhaps a patient. For a moment his brow furrowed, before he opened his eyes and glanced back again, a glint of humor having driven away whatever shadow had drifted into his thoughts. "There will be an exam, someday."

Volfred chuckled. "You keep saying that. I suppose for now I'd best not give myself any more to memorize." Tentatively, he put a bit more pressure on Oralech's shoulder; and, when he got no response, "Is that better?"

"Much." Oralech rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head cautiously to the left, then the right, testing what soreness remained. "A long bath and a night's rest will likely be sufficient to take care of it from here."

Volfred didn't respond. Oralech noted how the hands on his shoulders lingered, tightening once more, almost painfully, before going lax. After a moment, he brought up one of his own hands to cover Volfred's. The silence stretched out, it seemed, over the city below, over the fields and mountains and oceans, past the sunset. It reached for another time, the span of a delicate bridge.

"...Something weighs on your mind," Oralech began, tentatively, as if unsure the moment would hold under the weight of his words. "Speak it plain."

Volfred's voice seemed to come from far away. "After you fell, I..." But no, that rested too close to the heart of the matter. He took a breath and began again. "For a long while, I haven't been able to say for sure whether I am awake or simply deeply, deeply asleep. Tell me - do I sleep now?"

"If you do, then we are fortunate enough to be sharing the same dream." Oralech gave a quiet, bitter huff of laughter. "But...I believe I understand. Once I thought that I would never again be able to tolerate your touch, yet..." He punctuated the pause with a squeeze of Volfred's hand, a brush of his thumb against the bark. "Here we are."

"Here we are." A beat of silence. "I planned for years. But even as I looked ahead, it never felt as if it were more than a mere idea. As if there was a line in the path beyond which I did not... _ could _ not place myself."

"That is called surviving," Oralech murmured.

"...I don't believe I expected to return."

"Nor did I. Not truly."

Their voices were stable, but nonetheless the rawness of the admissions burned. Even the gentlest breeze could set an unhealed wound stinging, even now. It needed a gentler touch.

"Yet, here we are," Volfred offered at last.

"Indeed." Oralech laughed shortly once again, although this time without bitterness. The tightness that had crept into the air began to loosen. "You followed the Book, you kept to your Path. Your Scribes would be proud."

"I would like to think so."

The brief, intense light of the golden hour had faded now as twilight drew itself across the sky. A tentative knock at the door startled both of them, but it was only one of the great hall's many keepers, coming to light the lamps for the evening. Oralech and Volfred kept their hands linked in the easy silence as lights flickered to life behind them, one after another, reflected like early evening stars in the window.

The keeper retreated with perhaps a little more haste than was necessary; Volfred dismissed her with a neutral expression and a courteous nod. As the stone door swung shut behind her, he met Oralech's gaze and was surprised to see that he had a restrained smile on his face. At that, Volfred couldn't resist chuckling a bit as well. "We seem to be scandalizing the staff."

"Perhaps that is a sign that we should retire for the evening," Oralech said dryly, reaching at last for his cane. Volfred took a step back and waited as he braced himself against the top of the desk and, with some effort and a great deal of care, got to his feet.

"Shall we see what's for dinner, then?" Volfred suggested.

"Certainly." Oralech took two tentative steps, testing the soreness in his feet and leaning heavily on his cane. As he came up next to Volfred, he was wearing a wry but good-humored smile. "If we depart now, there is a chance we could arrive before the kitchen closes for the night."

"That's the spirit," Volfred said, and laughed, quiet but real, the sound resonating from deep in his chest.

Slowly, side by side, they left what was said in the twilight behind them, and they moved on.


End file.
